The Further Adventures of Dailana Cousland
by tklivory
Summary: Like, whoa, so Dailana Cousland, the, like, Valley Girl of Thedas, now gets her own totally gnarly series of stories! She admits, like, that sometimes a bad word might, like, sneak in, or some sweet lovin' with Prince Hotness or the Assassin of Passion...
1. Soldier's Peak

_So I can't seem to get Dailana Cousland out of my head. My little Valley Girl Warden, born without the sense the Maker gave to the smallest of nugs, insists that she has more stories in her than a cavalcade of Qunari. So I've succumbed to the inevitable. This, then, is the first installment of The Further Adventures of Dailana Coulsand._

_Maker help us all._

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**Solder's Peak? More Like Soldier's **_**Weak!**_

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Alistair watched his fellow Grey Warden, striving, as always, to overcome his innate confusion when around her and figure out what in the Maker's name was going through her pretty little head. _And she _is _pretty,_ he mused to himself as his eyes idly ran over her form. _Gorgeous, even. That blond hair, those blue eyes, and that tight little—_

Shaking his head quickly to banish those thoughts, he sighed inwardly. _Too bad she has to talk once in a while._ Suppressing a chuckle, he added to himself, _No wonder Duncan was so frazzled when he finally arrived at Ostagar with her. She certainly is…unique._ As his eyes once again lowered of their own volition to what he insisted on referring to as her _hindquarters_, his thoughts once again began tracing the lovely curves he found there.

The object of his musing stood looking up at the towering structure of Soldier's Peak, mouth agape, blue eyes wide and vacant of thought. Suddenly she turned and addressed Levi Dryden. "Dude, like, that is so totally _gnarly!_ I mean, Highever is still, like, waaaay awesomer, but this is, like, not too bad, ya know?" Returning her gaze to the imposing fort in front of them, she shrugged and said, "Still, let's, like, get moving, ya know? Um, I soooo don't want to just, like, stand around in the snow. I mean, my armor is totally gnarly and keen, but it isn't, like, made for cold weather, ya know? _ Duh!_" And with that declaration, she started towards the fort, hands absently reaching back to the hilts of her dual daggers as if to make sure they were still secure in their sheaths.

As always occurred when someone spoke with – well, _listened to_ – Dailana, Levi's eyes glazed slightly under the onslaught of her singular way of describing things. As Alistair followed after her, he murmured to Levi quietly, "You get used to it…eventually."

Hastening his footsteps to catch up with her, he was peripherally aware of Dog (_I mean really, who names a Mabari warhound Dog? _he wondered once again) passing him to walk by her side, looking at his mistress with more adoration than sense. Behind him, he could hear the constant low muttering of Sten, still in leather armor instead of his preferred plate armor because of losing yet another duel with the surprisingly lethal Dailana. _Thank the Maker she likes my Warden armor. It's astonishing how difficult it is to tell her no_. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as he remembered when Zevran had tried to stand up to his fellow Warden's insistence that he wear no helm because it would _"like, cover up that totally amazingly gnarly tattoo!" _despite the fact that they had been about to go up against several archer squads.

At least Wynne had been able to get that arrow out of the assassin's ear without too much permanent damage… _Although he has been very careful to avoid Dailana's line of sight when she chooses who is to accompany her, for all that they frequently share a tent at the camp. As much as I still don't quite trust him completely, the fact that he _hasn't_ killed her by now is a sign of remarkable self-restraint. Of course, _I_ get to wear a helmet because,_ he shuddered, _"those horns are, like, totally wicked cool, dude. Radical!"_

Alistair was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice their fearless leader come to a halt in front of him and turn around. He only managed to avert a collision by reaching out to grasp her upper arms in an instinctive response. She blinked at him, then issued an utterly gorgeous smile. "So, like, ready to do the wild thang yet, my luscious little hottie? We could, like, pitch the tent right here—"

Groaning, he snatched his hands away. "N-no!" Taking a deep breath to combat his sudden intense blushing, he added, "S-Sorry, I just didn't expect you to stop so suddenly."

Blowing an errant wisp of hair out of her face, she shrugged. "What_ever_, dude. Like, your loss." Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew some bombs. Everyone in the party instinctively took a step back, not wishing to revisit the 'fun' from the Brecillian ruins when her errant bomb throwing had almost managed to decimate them while taking on a Revenant and full complement of werewolves. Alistair's scars still smarted on cold nights. Rolling her eyes at their reaction, she said, "Dudes, just, like, _take a chill pill!_ I'm just, like, getting ready to wail on those totally bogus skeleton losers over there." That said, she turned around and casually started lobbing fire bombs as if they were Mabari crunches.

Looking past her, Alistair saw an advancing contingent of skeleton warriors, now engulfed in flames. Repressing an urge to swear _("because, like, bad language is totally barf me out to max, duh!")_, he quickly readied his sword and shield before advancing into the melee, the lithe and _infernally attractive_ Dailana at his side.

_I just wish she wouldn't giggle, _he thought morosely as his sword connected with the first enemy he encountered. _Or call them "gnarly charlies." _Pulling his attention sharply back to the enemies before them, he drew about himself the strange battle calm he had cultivated in his years of training at the Chantry. The sword became one with his hand, swinging through the air with the greatest of ease that only came over him during the heat of battle, filling him with a sense of confidence and purpose that eluded him elsewise—

His concentration was suddenly broken by a high-pitched shriek that rang through the air. _Oh, shit,_ he thought. _I've heard _that_ before._ Bracing himself, he slowly began to back away from his enemies, shield positioned before him, knowing what was coming next.

"You son of a bitch, you made me break a nail!" Implacable hatred in her voice, Dailana raised her weapons in front of her. "You'll _pay_ for that, you- you- _lame hoser!_" With a guttural growl, she launched herself forward into the midst of the horde.

Alistair sheathed his sword and put his shield across his back before crossing his arms in front of him and leaning back to admire the carnage. Beside him, Levi Dryden watched the unleashed fury with a face that lost more and more color as each enemy was felled with increasing ferocity. Sheathing his own weapon, Sten stood next to Alistair, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I begin to wonder how we could arrange for the Archdemon to break one of her fingernails," the normally stoic Sten declared to his erstwhile companion. "It appears that it would be the most efficient method of ending the Blight." He nodded approvingly towards the incandescent rage of Dailana Cousland. "It is as watching an _atashi_ in battle. Remarkable."

Nodding absently in agreement, Alistair waited until each and every last skeleton warrior was down and unmoving before carefully approaching his fellow Warden to begin the process of calming her down from her berserker rage.

.~^~.

Many dead gnarly charlies and loudly lamented broken fingernails later, they emerged into a room with only two doors, one of which glowed ominously. Cocking her head, Daliana scrutinized the glowing door. "Like, bogus," she said as her finger twirled a lock of her hair. Looking down at her faithful companion, she ordered, "Um, go check it, Dog."

With a low growl, Dog approached the door, hackles raised. Once he had reached the threshold, he sniffed it carefully, then barked at it. When neither of these actions elicited a response, he returned to Daliana's side and whined pathetically.

_Well, _that_ was effective,_ Alistair thought to himself.

"Ugh, gag me with a spoon." Sighing in exasperation, Dailana turned to the other door. "Um, I guess we have to, like, go in there and, like, deal with the trap that's obviously in there. Barf me out, dude."

He glanced sharply at her, unaccountably surprised at this evidence of forethought. _Perhaps she isn't as dumb as she— _Watching as she stalked to the door and flung it open without a care in the world, he shook his head in resignation. _No, I suppose she _is_ as dumb as she seems to be._ As she stopped short of the doorway and stretched her arms up and out, as if limbering for battle, however, a hot surge moved through his body, lingering in a very embarrassing location. Grateful for his full body armor, he moved forward to take his place ahead of her, shield at the ready. Brushing past her, he felt the heat emanating from her body, making his armor even more uncomfortable. _Why does she have to be so bloody beautiful on the outside and so… _not_ otherwise? And why do I have to _notice_ so often?_

Pushing those less-than-flattering thoughts aside, he entered the room first, alert for an ambush. He came up short when he saw a solitary figure standing behind a desk at the far end of the room. With her usual perspicacity, Daliana moved past him, looked at the woman, and said in strident tones, "Bee tee em, like, _seriously_, you need to totally rethink your moisturizer. I mean, your skin is so grody to the max, like, _gag me with a spoon_ bad, ya know?" Tilting her head while the expression of the woman – who was obviously possessed and had been dead for some time – darkened in anger, she added, "And, like, the hair? I wouldn't be caught _dead_ with something like that. Um, I hate to break it to you, but it really ain't working, chica – but then, like, with a face and body like yours, there isn't, like, much that would, is there?"

It went downhill rather rapidly after that.

When their enemies lay dead at their feet, Levi Dryden said with a hint of reproach, "I think that was my great-great-grandmother."

Tossing her hair and rolling her eyes, Dailana said, "Like, she was totally bogus. She's probably grateful to be, like, put out of her misery. I mean, did you _see_ her split-ends?" The Warden shuddered. "Barf me _out_, I mean, _gross!"_ Ignoring the resigned glance exchanged between Alistair and Levi Dryden, she went over and looked at the supine corpse that had been the last Warden Commander of Fereldan before Duncan, then turned to look at Sten brightly. "But this _armor_ is totally bitchin' _sweet!_ Time to get nekkid, boys!"

They all stared at her as a feeling of consternation stole over Alistair. "Wha—" he began.

Rolling her eyes, she advanced on Sten and blithely unhooked the straps that held the lower half of his leather armor in place. As it crashed to the ground, leaving him in his smalls, she turned and advanced on Alistair. "That armor she's stylin' would look, like, _totally_ righteous on your sculpted ass, Prince Hottie. So, like, you need to put on _her_ armor, and then Sten can put on _your _armor, and then, like, we could all be bodaciously radically awesome _and_ match!" Smiling as if she had solved all the problems in Thedas, she reached out for his waist.

Quickly intercepting her hands by grabbing her wrists, he blurted, "Um, thanks, I, uh, I can take care of that myself." Ears flaming bright red, he asked, "Could you please, um, leave the room while I, uh, while we-?" He trailed off, knowing that his face must be as red as the bonfire in their camp.

Pouting, she scrutinized him from head to toe in such a way as to make him _really grateful_ for his full coverage armor, then started twirling a lock of hair around one finger and shrugged nonchalantly. As she walked past him towards the door, she reached out and slapped him soundly on the ass. "What_ever!_ Bee tee em, just, like, hurry up, ya know?"

Casting his gaze towards the ceiling, he sent up a silent prayer. _Maker, please, just… just let me get through this._ Get through _what_, he had no idea…

.~^~.

After yet more dead gnarly charlies, but, thankfully, no more broken fingernails, they reached a room that contained shelves full of books and cages full of, well…

"Oh, _totally_ gross! Those are, like, human bodies!" Upper lip curled in disgust, Dailana went over to minutely examine the dry, dusty skeletons inside the metal enclosures that lined the wall to the left. "Barf me _out!" _Shuddering, she turned away from them, ignoring the books that littered the floor and nearby table completely.

Alistair glanced at their fearless leader, noticing the gore liberally spattered across her body and armor. _She's covered in the blood and guts of demons and worse, and she's grossed out by _actual dead skeletons? _Skeletons that likely_ won't _get up and attack us?_ Shaking his head, he sighed. _I will _never_ understand this woman._

Yet something on the table _did _catch Dailana's attention. "Sweet, look! Wine! Man, I am _parched_ after, like, delivering righteous _justice_ to all those dead losers!" Horrified, Alistair watched her raise an obviously _sinister_ beaker of liquid from the table and bring it to her lips. Before he had more time than to inhale to shout out a warning, however, she had recoiled from the red liquid and dropped the beaker to the floor, where it shattered and splashed viscous red ooze all over the floor. "Oh, _ugh,_ _grody!_ That smelled, like, _so totally gross!_" Gagging slightly, she turned and coughed for a few seconds before inhaling deeply and shaking her head.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her blood-encrusted hand, she shuddered dramatically. "Bee tee _em_, that was, like, _so_ foul! Who would, like, _leave,_ something like that just sitting around? Bogus!" Spitting onto the floor in a surprisingly ladylike fashion, she muttered, "Ugh, if I ever, like, find the _dork_ who left that heinous concoction out - *BAM!*" She emphasized her meaning by slamming her hand flat on the table in front of her. Dog whined a complaint at the sharp noise, and she hurriedly knelt down to pet his head. "Don't worry, my little Doggy. _You are my pwecious, pwecious baby, yes you are!"_

Sten sighed, as he did every time he heard Dailana address the Mabari warrior as one would an unweaned puppy. "Should we not continue?" he growled.

Standing so quickly that everyone but Sten shifted back in surprise, she demanded, "Um, do I, like, need to whip your ass into line _again_, Sten of the Beresaad?" A surprisingly intent look suddenly took hold of her face, and her eyes… Suddenly there was _nothing _empty or vapid about her eyes.

The question hung there for a moment before Sten bowed his head. "No, _kadan_. Forgive my impertinence. It shall be as you command."

Alistair stared, fascinated. _I've never seen her so…_ _serious?_ _No, _in command_. _He shivered slightly. _It's… kind of hot, actually._

In one her signature mercurial change of moods, Dailana grinned from ear to ear, a vapid expression once more claiming her exquisite features. "Sweet! Um, and don't you, like, forget how totally gnarly my blades are!" Pivoting to meet Alistair's eyes, she said, "Time's a-wastin', my delectable hottie! Let's, like, head out!"

Ignoring the amused looks of his companions, Alistair resolutely followed after his fellow Grey Warden, certain that _nothing _more terrifying that her could lie beyond the door she opened and charged through.

And he was right.

In the large room at the top of the tallest tower of Soldier's Peak, an old man stood hunched over a large table strewn with the artifacts of a mage. The air smelled of dust and decay, of magic and death. Warily, Alistair loosened his blade in his sheath and followed Dailana through the room.

A weedy voice carried through the room. "I hear you. Don't disrupt my concentra—"

Dailana cut him off. "Pfft! What_ever_, you old geezer. What are you, like, doing all the way up here in, like, Podunk, Thedas? I mean, it can't possibly be for, like, this bodacious weather or nothing, like, can it?"

The mage turned around to look at his surprise visitors. With a start, Alistair recognized him as the Grey Warden Avernus from the visions they had experienced during their time in Warden's Peak. "You—You're that mage from Sophia Dryden's time!"

"I am indeed, young Grey Warden." Regarding Dailana with a piercing gaze, he continued, "Even now the demons seek to replenish their numbers. Are you to thank for this welcome but—"

"What_ever!"_ Dailana scoffed. Putting her hands on her hips and straightening one leg, and making Alistair's mouth go completely dry by doing so, she continued, "I don't need, like, a total _lecture_ on the history of all the totally grody stuff that we had to fight to get up here. I just want to, like, get rid of all of it so that I can, like, store my stuff here, ya know? I mean, I need _somewhere_ to keep, like, all my dresses and stuff that I don't want to get wrinkled and gross and what_ever_."

Avernus seemed taken aback by Dailana's instant dismissal of his words. "You mean you don't wish to know more about who I am or what happened here?"

Rolling her eyes, she said, "You really _are_, like, an old fart, aren't you? Bee tee em, it must be so, like, totally _bogus_ getting old and decrepit." As the familiar glazed look started stealing over Avernus' face, she added, "So can you get rid of the totally skanky bogus demons down by that Shroud—"

"Veil," Alistair corrected hastily.

"Veil, Shroud, what_ever_!" she grumped. Turning back to Avernus, she said, "Um, so, like, can you get rid of those things? Cuz their blood is, like, _totally_ saturating my gnarly armor, and it's getting, like, so grody to the _max_!"

Bemused, the old mage replied, "Yes, well, I suppose I can assist you in this matter."

Dailana grinned. "Sweet! Come on!" Pivoting quickly, she swept out of the room, leaving them all in her wake.

Recognizing the stunned look on the old man's face, Levi Dryden leaned towards him. "You get used to it… eventually."

Avernus glanced at the man in astonishment. "Truly?"

Dryden shrugged. "That's what _he _keeps saying," he said, indicating Alistair with a gesture.

Turning to Alistair, Avernus repeated, "Truly?"

Sighing, Alistair said, "Let's just go after her, shall we?"

.~^~.

The fight against the gnarly charlies and (Alistair winced as he kept hearing her use it as a battle cry) the "rank skanks" wasn't going well. Avernus, obviously working to his utmost if the sweat that covered his bald head was any indication, held aloft his staff and muttered extensive incantations, but the demons just kept _pouring_ out of the hole in the Veil. He'd killed so many that he was starting to get a stitch in his side and a notch in his blade. _I don't know how much more of this we can take, _he thought as he desperately parried and blocked his way through the denizens of the Fade. _Who knew there would be so _many!

And then, like a miracle from the Maker, it happened.

"You bitch of a rank skank, _you made me break a nail!_"

After that, it was a simple enough task: he just followed the whirlwind of wrath that was Dailana around the room, stabbing the few opponents she didn't quite finish off. In the end, she stood in the middle of the huge room, surrounded by piles of dead demons, breasts rising and falling rapidly as she panted heavily, covered in blood and gore, face triumphant. Suddenly she raised her twin daggers to the ceiling and crowed, "_Yeah, _bitches! Who's the woman? _I'm_ the woman!" Strutting around the room, she began chanting, "Dumb but _deadly!_ Dumb but _deadly!"_

Alistair couldn't help but stare. _Hot_.

Behind him, he heard the incantation issuing from Avernus' lips come to an end. Glancing over at the Veil, he saw the blackness whirl furiously for a second, then slow down and finally stop. Wearily the old mage closed his eyes and whispered, "It is finished."

Collapsing on the floor, Alistair gasped for breath. "Thank the Maker that's _over_."

Sten merely sheathed his sword, though it was obvious that he, too, was fighting to recover his breath. "That went better than expected."

"Pfft!" Dailana said, waving off the comment. "I am totally, like, the _master_ of _disaster_!" She paused. "Um, or would that be the _mistress of distress? _ Or, like, the _Cousland _of _retribution!_ Or, um, the—"

"_If_ you are quite finished?" Avernus interrupted in an irritated tone of voice.

"Huh? Oh, right, sorry, old geezer." Casually turning to him as if they were not surrounded by a scene of carnage worse than anything they had encountered outside of Ostagar, she said, "What's up, gnarly charlie?"

Alistair looked at her sharply. _She's never called anyone but an enemy that._ A sudden premonition of _something bad_ swept over him, and he tried to force his tired body upright.

Meanwhile, Dailana had walked over to stand next to Avernus. "Before you start in with, like, your tiresome old windbag what_ever_ stories, though, I have, um, like, a totally rockin' question for you."

"What?" the old man snapped. Alistair groaned and tried to force his suddenly jellied knees to stiffen sufficiently to help him stand up.

Twirling a lock of her hair around a finger, eyes wide with innocence and empty of intelligence, she said in a girlish voice, "Did you make that, like, totally _radical _wine that was on that gnarly table outside where we found you?"

Drawing himself up with pride, Avernus nodded his head. "Yes. That tincture has the potential to free all Gre—"

He stopped as Dailana punched one of her daggers through his chest. Looking at her in horror, he stared into her suddenly intense blue eyes as she swung her other blade behind her shoulder.

"_Bam!"_ she whispered. Her shoulder flexed, and the blade danced in a vicious arc.

The mage's head landed hard on the stone floor and rolled to the side. Shrugging the headless body off of her first weapon, she leaned down and quickly and efficiently wiped off her daggers on his robe before sheathing them.

Looking up to meet Alistair's stunned gaze, she shrugged, once again the dumb but deadly Dailana. "What? That stuff, like, _totally_ reeked." Whistling to Dog, she said, "I'm, like, going back to camp. I, like, _totally_ need a bath. See ya, Prince of Hotness!"

Alistair watched her go. _What… what just… happened?_

Levi shot him a wry glance. "So… used to it yet?"

Shaking his head in confusion, Alistair muttered, "_Maker_, no."

.~^~.

.~^~.

.~^~.

_Atashi – _Qunari word for 'dragon'

_Bee tee em_ – BTM, By the Maker, Thedas equivalent to OMG


	2. Totally Gnarly Keen Storytime!

_So I sat down to write a funny story, and this came out. I guess Dailana was a bit wistful the last couple of weeks._

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.~^~.

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**Totally Gnarly Keen Storytime!**

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.~^~.

"Come _on_," Leliana said as she pulled Alistair after her to the meeting room that Arl Eamon had set aside for them in Denerim. "You're the last one to arrive."

Over a wave of rising suspicion, Alistair demanded, "Arrive for what?"

Pausing in her relentless onslaught, she turned to look at him, expression serious. "Well, I've noticed that Dailana's been, well, _down_ since returning from that business with Howe. I thought maybe if we all got together and told stories we could cheer her up."

"Cheer her up?" The bard nodded. "With _stories?_" She nodded once more. "Leliana, I appreciate the sentiment, but she just killed the man who killed her family. She's probably working through her feelings and emotions from that period. I don't see how telling _stories_ will help—" He stopped as Leliana began to pout. _Oh Maker, not the pout._

"_Please_, Alistair? If not for me, then for her?" she pleaded, lower lip trembling. "I thought you were her friend."

Alistair groaned. _Are _all _women born with the ability to twist men around their little fingers?_ "Fine," he agreed reluctantly, "I'll do it."

She clapped her hands together in glee. "Thank you, Alistair, thank you!" Seizing his hand in an implacable grip, she continued her informal kidnapping of the ex-Templar to the meeting room.

As they entered the room, all eyes within turned to regard them – except for Dailana's bright blue orbs. She sat, listless as always since returning from the Arl of Denerim's estate, staring out the window, her finger slowly twirling a lock of her hair. _She's going to get split ends if she isn't careful,_ Alistair thought in passing. _Wait a minute, why am _I _thinking that?_

Shaking his head slightly, he sat next to Zevran and glanced around the room. As Leliana had said, they were the last to arrive. All the other companions were here, even Oghren. _Although if that smell and the condition of his hair and beard are any indication, _he mused,_ Leliana had to rouse him from a drunken stupor with a bucket of water._

"Well!" the bard in question said brightly, taking a seat at the head of the table. "I brought everyone here today to—"

"You mean commanded," grumbled Sten.

Waving her hand in dismissal of his words, Leliana pressed on. "I brought everyone here so that we could recall… happier times." The silence deepened. "I thought we could all tell a story about the happiest time in our lives so that others could… so that we could all feel better." Everyone's gaze flickered to the despondent Dailana, observing her uncharacteristic slouch, her unfocused gaze, and the total lack of the irrepressible energy that was normally her defining characteristic, then back to Leliana's pleading expression.

Sighing, Zevran stood from his chair. "If it is happy times we wish to recall, I could provide a tale or two." At Leliana's encouraging nod, he said, "I must admit that one of the happiest moments of my life occurred just recently. Just last week, in fact." A self-deprecating smile came over his face. "There we stood, our Wardens, myself, and the ever charming Shale –" ignoring the golem's disbelieving snort, he continued, "as I was saying, the ever charming Shale, before the most treacherous of enemies that we had yet faced."

"In truth, I thought that Gaxkang was a far more formidable opponent than—" Sten began.

Zevran _shushed_ the Qunari. "This is _my _story, my large stoic friend. At any rate, there we stood before the dangerous Crows, my sins catching up to me at last. And then our dear leader stepped forward, told Taliesen that his 'hair was, like, totally bogus, dude, and your sense of dress? Barf me out, at least Zevran, like, has a sense of _style_, ya know?' before he even had a chance to threaten us. She accepted without question my loyalty, and assaulted those dark evildoers with a ferocity that was beautiful to behold."

"Well, to be fair, Taliesen _did_ break one of her nails," Alistair pointed out. "He had no hope of victory after that."

"Ah, yes," Zevran mused as he sat down, eyes distant. "That is _also_ one of my happiest memories, my friend. In truth, I had never seen a head split three ways, but I can no longer make that claim after observing his fate at her blades." A contented sigh came from him. "Ah, the deadly sex goddess in her element. _Marvelous_."

Alistair glanced at Dailana, and noticed that although she still gazed out the window, her finger had paused in its twirling motion. Meeting Leliana's eyes, he saw that she had noted the change as well.

"Shale?" she said brightly. "Perhaps you could contribute next?"

"Me?" the golem repeated from her position against the wall behind Zevran. "Why should I participate in the strange antics of the fleshy creatures?"

Leliana leveled a glare at the golem and grated, "Because I _said _so."

The golem seemed about to respond with her normal flippancy, but then paused and reconsidered. "Very well, if it insists, I will join the sister in this foolish endeavor." Crossing her arms, the golem shifted her weight slightly before beginning. "You would think that my age would allow me a vast plethora of memories from which to choose, but I find that one memory in particular brings me dangerously close to actually feeling like a warm, squishy being again."

Her gaze turned to the unresponsive Dailana at the foot of the table. "When we were poised between Caridin and Branka, I did not yet know all of who I was, but I knew that the Anvil should be destroyed. Yet I remember – dare I say, warmly? – that when the crazy Paragon tried to persuade it to destroy the golem Paragon, _it_ looked at me, as if it wanted to know how I felt, before it told the crazy Paragon that it was 'a rank skank with, like, the morals and judgment of a totally bogus ho-bag and the dress sense of, like, a Darkspawn in drag.'"

Alistair smiled at the memory, remembering Branka standing before them, speechless and uncertain exactly _how_ she had been insulted.

"No-one has ever cared about how I felt before. I was always merely a golem." Turning her head towards Dailana once more, she said, "But now I am 'a righteous, badass golem,' and that, I believe, is an appellation that I can… appreciate."

Slowly, Dailana's hand lowered into her lap, and a subtle tension seemed to ease out of her shoulders.

Encouraged, Leliana turned to the person on the other side of Zevran. "Morrigan, what say you?"

The witch sighed, an eyebrow arched sharply. "Really, _must_ we engage in this foolishness? I would prefer to return to the study of my mother's grimoire than hold hands in a circle and exchange fairy tales." She began to rise from the table as if to leave.

Surprisingly, it was Sten who addressed her with a hint of remonstrance in his tone. "You are as a _maraas imekari_, woman. Cease this useless objection and do what is necessary."

Obviously surprised by the Qunari's admonition, Morrigan sat back into her chair abruptly, trying hard not to look like a child that had been told to sit down and behave. "Very well, if you insist on this absurdity, I will play along." She thoughtfully tapped a fingertip against her lower lip, her eyes straying to the quiet form of Dailana. Suddenly a smile crossed her face, for once completely without rancor or condescension. "Ah, yes. I do seem to recall a suitable moment."

Reaching into her pouch, she withdrew a small jeweled mirror and gazed at it tenderly, gently tracing the pattern on the golden casement with a bemused look in her eyes. Alistair saw Dailana's head turn slowly as his fellow Warden sought a glimpse of the trinket in Morrigan's hands.

Morrigan ended the moment when she abruptly closed her hands around the mirror and returned it to the bag at her waist. "But that is a moment that shall remain between the Warden and me. I am done here." And with that statement, she stood and swept imperiously from the room.

"Totally gnarly sweet mirror," Dailana whispered quietly into the silence that followed Morrigan's precipitous exit. Alistair felt like holding his breath as Dailana finally swiveled to face the others in the room for the first time since he had come in.

"Sten?" Leliana said hurriedly, not wanting to lose the momentum.

He snorted. "It should be obvious to even the most simple _imekari_ that happiness is attained only through the diligent execution of one's appointed duties. However," he continued before Leliana had a chance to object to his statement, "there is one moment that I will forever hold above any other."

His hand reached back reflexively to caress the hilt of the large sword that never seemed to leave his back save for battle and bloodshed. "When one is resigned to a life of emptiness and _maraas_… The gift of _talan _and completion is one which I will never forget or be able to sufficiently repay." Removing his hand from his sword, he said, "_Parshaara._ Let us finish this so that we may return to the task at hand."

A snort echoed throughout the room. "Is it my turn yet?" Oghren rumbled. "I mean, we have a merry little party going on here, right? Everybody talking about the pretty happy moments of their life and…" He interrupted himself with a seemingly endless rattling belch. "Heh, the pride of Orzammar lives on in yours truly! Heh, heh… Where was I?" Blearily, the dwarf looked around the room. "Oh, right, some sodding happy moment in the sodding sunshine while dancing around in a sodding circle of sodding glee? Not sodding now, all right?" His head dropped back down on the table.

Dailana stirred. "Like, dude, he is so, like, totally rude!" Alistair smiled. She didn't have all of her old spitfire back, and she hadn't smiled yet, but she was paying attention, at least. Dog walked over to her side and nuzzled her limp hand. She automatically responded by wrapping her arm around his neck and pushing her face into his neck.

"Alistair?" the bard asked pointedly.

Wrenching his gaze from his fellow Warden, he stammered, "M-me? Isn't it your turn next?"

The bard cleared her throat and looked pointedly at Dailana. Returning his gaze to the foot of the table, he found his fellow Warden's gaze fixed on him, strangely intent and evincing mysterious depths that he had never seen there before. "I—uh, well…"

He hesitated. He _had _been planning on telling the story of how Duncan had rescued him from the Chantry, and the elation he had felt when he had realized that he finally had a place where he _belonged _and was valued for _who_ he was, not _what_ he was. But as he gazed into those cerulean eyes, he realized that one moment, one bare instant of unalloyed joy surrounded by days and weeks of despair, surpassed even that.

Maintaining eye contact, he said, "When you stepped from Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds, and I knew that I wouldn't have to be alone against whatever lay ahead… That—that's the moment _I _treasure most, Dailana."

She smiled, a slow, brilliant smile that lit her entire face and dismissed the last shadows from underneath her eyes. In this smile was none of the impishness and vapidity that normally occupied her face, nor the sardonic condescension she used when trying to correct others on their 'bogus' behavior. It was simply, completely, and utterly _her_, a strange and mysterious creature that he suddenly realized he knew very little about.

He recalled that he had seen that particular smile only once before: when she had stepped out of the hut after they were rescued from the Tower of Ishal, scars still dark from the freshly healed wounds left by Darkspawn arrows, and seen him standing at the edge of the pond. It had been the first time he had seen her smile at all since her arrival at Ostagar on the heels of an exasperated Duncan. He had almost forgotten in the intervening weeks how moody and angry she had been, how rarely she had spoken with her mouth in favor of using her blades, and how often she had stared into the distance, lost in thought that he could not follow.

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears, and she blindly got up and ran from the room.

Without thinking, he followed her, finally catching up with her just as she was closing the door to her bedroom. Quickly going inside, he shut the door behind him and placed his hands on her shoulders. "What is it, Dailana? What's wrong?"

She looked at him, her expression so forlorn that he just wanted to pull her in and hold her close, an urge he had never felt so strongly before.

She sniffled, rubbing her nose inelegantly with trembling fingers. "Did you, like, mean what you said? Really? You weren't, like, just _saying_ it to be, I dunno, nice?"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course. Why would I lie?"

She hiccoughed as her tears started to flow faster. "Because no-one… no-one has, like, ever said such a nice thing about me. Nobody's ever, like, _wanted _to be near me, or, like, wanted _anything_ from me except—except to use me for, like, access to my father or, ya know, getting horizontal, or…" And here she broke down completely, burying her face into his chest and weeping as if her heart were broken.

At a loss as to how to handle this completely unexpected breakdown from the seemingly unflappable Dailana, he clumsily put his arms around her and drew her close, instinctively patting her hair and murmuring soothing sounds into her ear. "Hush, hush, of _course_, I want to be near you." He smiled slightly into her hair. "Even when you drive me crazy, I want to be with you."

She pulled back. He reached up and smoothed a thumb over her tear-streaked cheeks. In a girlish voice, she sighed, "Like, way?"

He grinned down at her and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Way."

Their lips met in a tender caress, a soft exploration of desire tempered with a subtle understanding that this was not a promise, not a prelude to further intimacy, not a moment of physical contact for the sake of pleasure. This kiss was only of atonement offered, comfort given, and the acknowledgment that no matter what the future held, there would, always and forever, be this moment of perfect accord and harmony.

Slowly they drew apart, wordlessly staring at each other for a few moments. Then her hand reached out and traced the line of his jaw. "Alistair," she whispered.

It was the first time she had actually spoken his name.

"Yes?" he replied quietly.

"Thank you."

He raised her hand and gently brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Your desire is my command."

.

.~^~.

.

_Asala - _soul

_Imekari_ – child

_Maraas_ – Nothing, or alone

_maraas imekari_ – A child bleating without meaning

_Parshaara_ – Enough!

_talan_ - truth

.

.~^~.

.

_Well, _that_ got all fluffy bunnies and kittens. Who knew Dailana was deeper than a millpond? This took even me by surprise!_

_Next up: Enough of the sappy stuff, already! Lothering, here we come!_


	3. Lothering, Schmothering!

_In this installment, Dailana somehow manages to show the refugees in Lothering that, in fact, things _can_ get worse._

.~^~.

.

**Lothering, Schmothering!**

.

.~^~.

Morrigan sent a dubious glance towards the woman striding in front of the party. _How on Thedas did I come to be in this... _company_? A fool, a dog, and..._ She paused, uncertain _precisely _how to describe the blond woman walking in front of her on the highway, humming off-key and swiping the tops off of cattails with a stick the dog had brought her. Once in a while, she'd hold up her hand and look intently at her fingernails, then shrug and go back to humming. _At least she isn't _talking_, _Morrigan thought with approval. _I _much_ prefer her humming to her -_ she shuddered, _- her _elocution_._

The fool seemed to enjoy watching her, of course, but then, he _was_ a fool, and as easily entranced as all men by the swaying of hips and hair. Although even Morrigan had to reluctantly admit that he gritted his teeth a fair amount when Dailana started talking about _shoes_ and _dresses_ and _bumping uglies_.

And they hadn't even reached Lothering yet. _'Tis a pity I do not believe in their so-called Maker, _she mused. _At least _then_ I would have someone to pray to for merciful death. Mother must truly hate me, to make me accompany these people._

Movement on the highway ahead, on the final section leading into Lothering proper, caught her attention. She sighed in resignation. _Of _course_ there are bandits. Anything to make this lovely little trip _more_ enjoyable._

"Wake up, gentlemen! More travellers to attend to," the man in front said with a cheerful wink. "And I'd guess the pretty one is-"

The pretty one looked at him. "Like, what_ever_. You're totally in my way, gnarly charlie."

_Gnarly charlie? Does this woman even speak the same tongue as the rest of Fereldan?_ Morrigan thought with an almost audible snort.

The dullard to the bandit's left spoke up, looking at the armed Alistair and the staff on Morrigan's back with some apprehension. "Um, I dunno about this, boss. They don't look like them others."

_Hmmm, perhaps _that _one isn't _quite _as dumb as he looks,_ Morrigan thought approvingly.

The leader's smiled widened. "Nonsense! Greetings, travellers! I-"

Dailana rolled her eyes, one finger reaching up to her hair and idly twirling a blond lock. "Like, totally tubular bonus points to gnarly charlie number two!" she said sarcastically. "Gnarly charlie number one, you, like, _really_ don't want to mess with me. I'm in, like, a totally bogus mood right now."

The bandit blinked, slightly nonplussed. "Ah, yes, well, the, uh, toll applies to everyone!" he struggled gamefully on. "Ten silvers, please."

Dailana's eyes suddenly got intent, filling with something akin to thought but more... _chilling_. "Did, like, an awesomely hot bodacious Cousland man pass this way? Cause, I'd think about, like, _not _robbing you if you, like, could tell me which way he went."

An uncertain chuckle ran through the bandits. The thought of _"She certainly doesn't _look _threatening" _was evident in their expressions, but that little bit of uncertainty remained. "Now, now, no need to get unpleasant. I-"

Rolling her eyes, Dailana reached back and whipped out her blades, holding one under the bandit leader's chin and one behind his neck in an unbreakable vise. _"Have you, like, seen an awesomely bodacious hot Cousland man pass this way?"_ she repeated again.

The bandits froze. Morrigan sympathized. It was like being attacked by a kitten with a crossbow - completely unexpected, and invoking no certain response. The man's voice box bobbed as he swallowed, a line of red appearing at his throat. "Ummm... no?"

"What_ever._" The blades didn't waver. "Listen, gnarly charlie number one: my armor is, like, totally bogus and we totally need, like, poultices and other radically awesome healing stuff because _someone_ can't, like, heal a blister."

Morrigan bristled. "My magic is _far_ more useful than merely erasing the effects of the fool's inability to properly use that shield upon his back," she hissed.

"Hey!" Alistair complained.

Ignoring both of them, Dailana continued to slowly decrease the space between the blades she held on either side of the man's throat. "So, like, the Wardens are looking for contributions to their radically awesome cause. Care to, y'know, make a totally voluntary donation?"

A shiver ran through the dullard to the leader's side. "Did she say she's a Grey Warden? Them ones killed the king!"

"What!" The explosion came from Alistair, and for once Morrigan agreed with him. _He may be foolish, but he certainly did not commit regicide. 'Twould take far more intelligence than he possesses to do so._

"Ow!" the bandit leader said as Dailana's arm muscles tightened involuntarily at the words. "Ah, please be quiet, Hanric, there's a good chap. Can't you see you're upsetting the pretty la- Ow!"

Her cerulean eyes had flattened into pure venom. "Umm, did I forget to mention, like, my own totally radical motto? _Dumb but deadly_." She looked at Hanric. "This would, like, be an _awesome _opportunity to, y'know, calm me down with a gnarly gift of gold. Diamonds are, like, a girl's best friend, right?" Blood spilled out from under her blades, a thin but steady trickle.

"Do as she says!" the man squeaked.

The bandits hastily dug into their pockets, removing all manner of silver, rings, and anything else they could find, holding them out in their hands.

Morrigan nodded approvingly as she stepped forward and took the proffered items. "An excellent decision, to be sure. Perhaps you will be allowed to see your families in the future, after all." Pocketing the items, she noticed that the filthy Mabari hound was sniffing at a dead body nearby, attracting Alistair's attention.

"What did you find, boy?" he said, taking a glittering object from the dog's mouth. Frowning, he looked more closely at the body. "This is a Templar!" He looked at the bandits accusingly. "Did you kill this man?"

The sudden additional perspiration on the man's forehead was sufficient answer.

Morrigan snorted. "One more dead Templar. _What _a shame."

"Oh, thank you for your _charming_ opinion, it is _so_ appreciated," Alistair drawled, his sarcasm biting.

"Uh, look, we have several chests filled with items! Please, feel free to help yourselves!" the man said desperately, as the blood began to saturate the collar of his gambeson. "Really! We don't need any of it!"

The blades were placed back in their sheath, and Dailana turned and whistled to Dog. "Bee tee _em, _what_ever_. Thanks for the awesome assistance, gnarly charlie number one."

Fingering the bloody line on his throat, the bandit shakily smiled. "Ah, of course! Anything for a lovely lady such as yourself!" He gestured to the other bandits to move out of the party's way, but they had already scurried down the highway, as far away from Dailana as they could manage. "Thank you! Have a good day, now!" He then followed his fellows as they sprinted out of sight.

Morrigan sighed. _I simply do _not_ understand how she does that,_ she mused.

Dailana ignored the retreat as she casually looted the indicated chests, pocketing all the contents. Then she stood and walked to the stairs that led into the little valley in which Lothering lay, overshadowed only by the windmill. After a bewildered glance between them that had become almost habitual of late, despite their mutual antipathy, her human companions hurried their steps to catch up with her.

Obviously looking for _something_ to say, Alistair gestured towards the town. "Lothering! Pretty as a painting."

"Finally! Are there any shops here?" Dailana looked at her armor with a moue of distaste. "This is, like, totally grody to the max. Umm, I seriously need some new leather - Darkspawn blood must be, like, the _worst _mood-killer _ever!_" She looked at Alistair. "Unless there's another reason you, like, refused my invitation this morning, my Warden of Hotness."

Alistair flamed a brilliant red.

"What_ever_!" She shrugged, then continued down the stairs.

Morrigan looked at Alistair. "So I suppose this means she is the leader of our little group, then, fool?" she asked with an edge in her voice. "Well, that is _so _reassuring."

Gesturing after their leader, he said in a curt tone, "You are welcome to talk to her yourself."

Walking past him with a haughty air, she replied, "Even _you_ should know that would be a fruitless endeavor. Come, fool, who knows what will happen if she is allowed to enter the town alone."

Alistair blinked as he pictured Dailana, unchaperoned, in a town full of people completely unprepared to deal with her. "Right," he mumbled, hurrying his steps.

.~^~.

They caught up to her having an argument with a Chantry priest and a merchant. The priest, an older woman, was pointing her finger at the merchant. "-profit from their misfortune!" she said indignantly. "I should have the templars give away everything in your carts!"

"You wouldn't dare!" the red-faced merchant replied. "Any of you-"

Morrigan saw the growing impatience on Dailana's face as she and Alistair drew close. "Look, I just want to shop." She rolled her eyes. "Can you, like, stop shouting so I can get some totally gnarly replacements?" She blew a lock of hair out of her face as they turned to stare at her incredulously. "What_ever_! Just, like, sell me some totally awesome stuff, okay?"

The priest huffed, pointing at the merchant. "He is charging outlandish prices-"

Dailana's expression darkened. "Not to _me_, he won't." She looked at her fingers. "My nails need some, like, totally bitchin' re-doing, and I, like, need supplies _now._ So let me just _buy_ _stuff_, you know?"

The merchant's eyes suddenly got canny, sensing an opportunity. "Well, I have limited supplies. The-" He stopped as a knife was suddenly under his throat. _Everyone_ stopped and stared at Dailana.

_A kitten with a crossbow,_ Morrigan thought to herself, amused. "I would just do as she polilely requested," Morrigan murmured. "She can be quite unpleasant when she forced to be _im_polite."

The merchant held up his hands, blinking rapidly. Behind him the priest was trying to hide a smug expression, and the two peasants unsuccessfully concealed grins behind their hands. Dailana blew a lock away from her face, glaring at them with an intense gaze. "Like, _duh_, I'm not doing this for _you_. I don't care, like, how much he charges _you._ I just want, like, some totally awesome armor to replace the awful grodiness around my bodacious bod, ya know?"

"Most sensible," Morrigan said, surprised to find herself approving of anything Dailana said. "'Tis but survival of the fittest."

The priest huffed. "I.. Well, I never!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air, then turned and stalked into the direction of the Chantry. Alistair looked uncomfortable but remained silent.

The merchant said, tone placating, "All right, I'll give you a fair price-" He stood on his tiptoes as the dagger raised slightly. "A discount! A discount!"

The dagger withdrew. "Umm, that's fair, I _guess._" She started twirling a lock of hair around a finger as her suddenly vapid eyes looked at the merchant. To his credit, he didn't believe _that _either.

.~^~.

"_How_ did you get so much for so little money?" Alistair asked again incredulously, looking down at his new SIlverite heavy armor. "I think raw _leather_ cost more at Ostagar."

Dailana shrugged as they approached the inn, where the first merchant assured them food could be found and he most _definitely_ did not have _any _further equipment they could _possibly_ want. As they approached the door, a man with a disgruntled look on his face who stood next to the entrance said, "You might not want to go in. Tavern's-" He trailed off as Dailana completely ignored him and pushed the door open.

She rather abruptly stopped when they came face-to-face with a small group of men in armor who were apparently on their way out. The brute in the lead saw Dailana, blinked, and then smiled in what he obviously thought was a menacing fashion. "Well. Look what we have here, men. I think we've just been blessed."

Dailana giggled as if her head were truly empty. Morrigan ground her teeth in frustration. _I _wish_ I could tell once and for all if she were truly clever or truly... what_ever! She blinked as she realized what had just crossed her mind, then ground her teeth again. _Gah, and now she begins to infect _me _with her foolishness! Madness!_

"Well," the blond Warden said at the tail-end of the man's rather predictable threat, "I suppose I could, like, take on half of you at once, but the rest will have to wait your turn." She shrugged. "Just because the Warden of Scrumptiousness over here isn't, like, _quite_ ready to take on my horizontal expertise yet, you all, like, look totally ready for the tango of temptation."

The man blinked, hesitating at this _completely_ unexpected response. Trying to rally himself, he managed a raspy, "What?"

Morrigan only saw a bunch of idiots wrapped in metal, led by a fool fully as great as the metal-encased one at her side, but Alistair groaned in recognition. "Uh-oh. Loghain's men. This can't be good."

Even as Morrigan waited for Alistair's warning to penetrate the fluff around Dailana's mind, an elegant red-haired woman in a Chantry robe stepped forward. "Surely there is no need for trouble. These are no doubt-"

But something had finally percolated into that little pink brain, and Dailana said, "What? These dandies serve, like, the Gwaren Terror?" Her eyes narrowed. "The one who, like, left all those soldiers to die?" She took an aggressive step forward, one hand reaching to a blade, the other grabbing the top of the confused soldier's hauberk. "_Including my brother?"_

Instinctively, the man sought his sword, dragging it out of his scabbard in a wild arc that brought the flat of his blade to smack against Dailana's tightly gripping fingers, causing her to yelp and withdraw her hand. Looking at it, she whispered, "You broke a nail."

Dog whimpered, lowered his head, and ran as far away as the enclosed space of the tavern allowed him, burying his face into the bags of flour piled in the kitchen.

"What has gotten into that filthy hound?" Morrigan snapped. "So this man broke your fingernail. He is being disrespectful and thoughtless to those around him, and deserves chastisement for those actions rather than the state of your beleaguered pinky!"

Dailana turned to her, and Morrigan stepped back, startled. Those eyes... they were _awake _again. The woman turned back to the now terrified soldier. "You _broke_ my _nail!"_

The red-headed woman tried half-heartedly to interject a voice of reason as Dog's whine escalated into a low howl. "I'm sure that-"

With blinding speed the knives came out of their sheathes across her back. The soldiers only had time to put hands on hilts before the flurry of steel and cuss words hit each one of them in turn. Morrigan and Alistair, as well as the red-haired Chantry sister, took a step back from the whirlwind. Everyone else in the tavern stepped back rather more than that.

'_Tis... 'tis most unexpected,_ she mused. Up until this moment, Dailana had been an _adequate_ fighter, though she had mainly seemed to manage fights by letting the fool attract all the enemies' attention so she could slip in from behind to stab or slice. Dog, in truth, was usually more effective in the heat of battle. Whilst Morrigan had observed her in her initial trek across the Korcari Wilds, she certainly had not been very impressive: standing behind the three men, throwing an occasional weak bomb and making disgusted noises about getting _'blood all over me'_ (when she bothered to draw her weapons at all). Indeed, Dailana had spent much of her time bristling and glaring at the three men, stalking off to stand alone away from them, staring into nothing. _Useless_ had been Morrigan's first conclusion, one that hadn't changed very much during the ensuing events. Even the incidents with the bandits and the merchants had been, in the end, really nothing much more sophisticated than a temper tantrum with blades - effective, but hardly an indication of any type of _prowess_.

But _this_...

Before the first body had even hit the floor, the last enemy was killed, surprise and shock joining the pain on his face. Morrigan blinked, then narrowed her eyes and regarded the young Warden in the midst of the carnage.

She stood, surrounded by a slowly collapsing pile of bodies, copious amounts of blood on her new armor and trusty blades. Her breathing was erratic, her face blank, and her eyes... well, that hint of _something else_ was in her eyes again.

Dog hesitantly came over and snuffled at the back of her knee, a curious whine in his tone: an appeasement of her wrath, perhaps.

And, just like that, she snapped out of it, her eyes empty once again. She looked down at herself. "Eew, I've, like, got _blood_ all over me." She held out her blades to Dog, who obediently cleaned them, then held out her arms as Dog cleaned off the blood with a slobbery tongue.

_Disgusting_, Morrigan thought with distaste. _I pray I never have to choose between blood and dog saliva._ 'Twas easier to think of _that_ than of the glint in Dailana's eyes as she had... _slaughtered_ the gnarly charlies.

The sister stared at the carnage, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief. Finally she swallowed and turned to Dailana. "You didn't even give them a chance to surrender!"

Dailana shrugged, running her hands through her hair and grimacing. "Um, _nobody_ messes with my nails. That's, like, totally bogus and _not_ cool." She looked at her hand with the broken fingernail mournfully. "Man, _another _hour, like, _wasted_." She looked at the sister. "So, you, um, usually try to get involve in armed combat? That seems kinda, ya know, dumb?"

Somehow Morrigan suppressed a snort of disbelief. _I do believe I just heard the pot call the kettle pitch._

The red-haired woman blinked. "I wasn't born in the Chantry," she said, the soft lilt of Orlais in her enunciation. "Many of us had... more colorful lives before-"

Waving a hand in dismissal, Dailana said, "What_ever_. Have a totally awesome bodacious time in the cloister, sister. I've got to go, like, save the world or something."

The woman held out her hands. "Wait! That's what I wanted to talk to you about!" She cleared her throat. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Leliana."

Dailana blew at the errant lock of hair that never seemed to stay in place. "Umm, yeah. Like I have a reason to care." An odd look came over her face as she looked at the woman more closely. "You have, like, totally gnarly keen hair." She bit her lip, as if forming a thought was _quite _difficult. "Um, do you, like, think that shoes are awesomely splendiferous and radical?"

"Ummm... Yes?" was the hesitant reply, a look of utter perplexity on Leliana's face.

"Sweet!" the blue-eyed Warden said with a bright smile and empty gaze. "Finally, someone who, like, knows what is important in life! Welcome aboard, Sister Sartorial!"

.~^~.

"So, um, has she... always been like this?" Leliana asked in soft Orlesian accents.

Morrigan fought the urge to roll her eyes. _I will _not_ emulate her!_ "I barely know the Wardens. I joined their party but recently. In our short time of acquaintance, however, I would have to say... _yes_, she has 'always been like this.'"

The subject of their discussion stood in front of a very uncomfortable Alistair, using his armor as a mirror to fix her hair and makeup after the fight inside the tavern.

The former sister pursed her lips. Another trip to the now-terrified merchant outside of the Chantry had garnered them a rather fetching set of leathers for her to wear, complete with a rakish beret that perched atop her head. A new longbow also sat across her back, its fresh paint job (_to, like, make sure the bow matches the armor, _duh!) glistening in the light of the sun. "She seems... well, I'm not quite sure how to put it."

The witch sighed. "Quite frankly, neither do I," she confessed. She straightened as Dailana finished her ministrations and whistled Dog to her side.

"Right, let's, like, find this Freeway-"

"Highway," Alistair muttered, still a bit disgruntled at being used as a mirror.

"Bee tee _em, _what_ever_!" The eyes rolled yet again. "You coming or going, cuz I have, like, _things _I want to do, ya know? Like find a place with a totally radical gnarly keen shop!" She looked mournfully at her hand. "And, like, a manucurist." She sighed, then giggled and began marching in the direction of the windmill.

As they approached the windmill, they heard a voice chanting in a low, sonorous tone. _"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun."_ And, of course, Dailana, sharing the attention span as well as the incongruity of a kitten with a crossbow, changed her path to go investigate the source. _It is like allowing a butterfly to dictate our path,_ Morrigan thought in frustration as she turned perforce to follow.

The voice turned out to belong to a huge giant of a man in a cage, dressed in the clothes of a farmer and with deep circles under his eyes. Morrigan's eyes narrowed. Though she did not know the meaning of the words, she at least recognized the tone and intent of it. _He awaits his death._

And it was to this noble creature that Dailana strolled, head cocked to the side, eyes empty of thought. "Umm, so, like, what'd you do?" She bonked a hand on the steel enclosure. "This is, like, a totally bogus downer of a bitchin' cage."

The giant opened his eyes as she spoke. "You aren't one of my captors."

She blew at her errant lock of hair. "Well, _duh_, Captain Obvious." She rolled her eyes. "And I, like, asked you a question, you know."

He closed his eyes again. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the other humans. Leave me in peace."

Dailana's face flattened into a blank expression. Then she shrugged and turned away. "_What_evs."

Morrigan stiffened. _Was she truly that dense? _"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped-"

"Bee tee _em, _he's _boring!"_ Daliana said dismissively with a flip of one hand. She looked rather mournfully at it and sighed. "A full hour, like, totally _wasted,_" she mourned again, already forgetting the giant in the cage.

Alistair cleared his throat. "I think he's a qunari." He stepped over and gently took Dailana's elbow to get her attention.

She turned to him, clearly startled at the contact, then smiled, a big wide grin. "Something I can help you with, my Warden of Pulchritude?"

He blinked. "What? I just wanted to say that we should consider taking the qunari with us."

Pouting, she look up at him. "That's all? Hmph. And here I was hoping for, like, a totally radical gnarly keen moment of awesomely intense horizontal tango."

He reddened. "I just think the Wardens could use him, that's all. But you don't have to consider my opinion if you don't want to." He took his hand from her arm. "Don't worry, I'm used to it." He stalked away, shoulders tight with anger and hurt.

She stared after him for a moment, then turned and walked to the cage. Ignoring the occupant, she examined the lock quite closely for a few seconds, then reached up to her bandana and _under _it, extracting a long, flexible piece of metal.

Morrigan blinked. _That isn't... no, it can't be. She doesn't have the patience for-_

Dailana inserted the piece of metal into the lock, humming to herself in a grating off-key fashion, but Morrigan reveled in it. _If she hums, she cannot talk,_ she reminded herself as the humming hit a particularly egregious note. _If she hums, she cannot talk._ Repeating it to herself as a mantra, she almost didn't notice when the lock _clicked_ and Dailana stepped back with a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Oh, yeah, who's the Chief Thief?" she gloated. She reached out and opened the door. "All right, that's the total story, Mountain Man." She gestured with her thumb. "Let's make like a tree."

"No," the qunari said without opening his eyes.

Dailana blinked. "I _said,_ let's make like a banana. Bee tee _em_, are you, like, paying attention?" She kicked the door, causing it to jerk away, strike the cage, and swing back into her waiting hand with a solid _thwack_. "The door is, like, totally open!"

"No."

She made a growl in the back of her throat. The cerulean gaze filled with that _look_, the one that always gave Morrigan fits of frustration. Dog whimpered and backed away, cringing into the dirt. Leliana also retreated slightly, uncertain of what was about to happen.

Morrigan watched the Warden woman, fascinated. _Does she truly expect _everyone_ to just do what she says?_

Eyes narrowed, Dailana hopped into the cage, leaned over and whispered into the qunari's ear, then hopped back out. "Now, Mountain Man! Time's, like, totally a-wasting!"

Rolling her eyes before she could stop herself, Morrigan said, "I hardly think he's going to-"

With a sigh, the qunari opened his eyes and heaved himself out of the cage, slamming the door behind him "So be it."

Dailana resumed her interrupted trip to the Highway, whistling off-key, the qunari and the rest trailing after her. Morrigan gaped for a few moments, then hurried to catch up. _What on _Thedas_ did she say?_ Her teeth gritted painfully tight. _And how does she _do _that? _Maddening!

.~^~.

They had left Lothering behind them, rescuing - completely by accident, mind - a couple of dwarves. Dailana had been about to pass them by, her hum still wending its off-key way through something that would have _almost _have been recognizable as a Chantry hymn to someone _extremely_ familiar with religious music, when a Darkspawn archer sent an arrow through her hair.

The ensuing chaos, though not as frighteningly _lethal,_ made for a short, dirty fight.

When the two dwarves had proven to be merchants, Dailana had perked up immediately, badgering them mercilessly until the older dwarf promised to follow them and camp with them each night. Happier with the prospect of a permanent shopping experience at her beck and call, Dailana had taken them right out of Lothering, up the Highway, and as far as they could go before the sun set in a blaze of orange and purple glory.

She watched her companions from afar. She had seen Dailana attempt sleep, only to awaken and pick another fight with the fool, though the witch was too far away to hear the words of the argument. After that, the blue-eyed Warden had begun to restlessly prowl the camp, speaking to anyone and everyone, including her Dog. Resigned, Morrigan awaited her turn.

As predicted, it was mere minutes before Dailana intruded upon her side of the camp. "What do you want?" she said, wishing to make it clear that the presence of the frustrating, confusing, and _maddening_ woman was not wanted, _certainly _not for idle conversation.

Dailana shrugged, her finger twirling in her hair, eyes empty and mind oblivious to nuance. "I just, like, wanted to talk, ya know?" Flopping gracefully onto the ground next to Morrigan's smaller fire, she lowered her hand and lifted her chin, gaze directed upwards. "I love the stars, ya know?"

Startled at the pablum attempt at conversation, Morrigan merely replied with, "Ah?" The thoughts echoed through her head, unspoken: _I am busy crafting poultices_ - which was true - _and I have no interest in a conversation with you_ - also true_._ She left both thoughts unspoken, a reluctant curiosity her only ally and defense from Dailana's peculiar brand of _elocution._

"My brother and I would stare at the stars for hours. Ya know, when we were, like, totally radically adorable little kids and all that." She kept looking at the stars. Her face held a wistful expression, her eyes neither empty nor filled with vituperation. They were merely... _sad. _"Um, do you think that somewhere in this totally bogus war and this radically gnarly world, he's looking up there and, ya know, thinking of me?"

Bereft of irritation and unable to maintain her indifference, Morrigan replied, in a far gentler tone than she would have thought necessary with Dailana only a few seconds before, "I cannot say. He may be inside, or asleep, or..." She glanced at the woman's face, seeing once again that abnormally _normal_ expression of wistful sorrow. "I... I _suppose_ it could, in a very narrow sense of the word, be _possible_, yes," she finally managed to get out.

Dailana's mouth curved into a gentle smile. "Thanks. It's like, totally awesome to hear someone... _say_ it, ya know." She finally looked over at Morrigan. "Your eyes are, like, awesomely amazing."

Again taken aback by the flitting butterfly thoughts of the Warden, Morrigan could only blink and say, "Thank you. 'Tis a most kind thing to say."

The other woman shrugged, rising to her feet. Morrigan had noted that she did not seem to be able to stay in the same location for more than a minute or two, and took this as a hopeful sign that she would be soon moving on.

Except that, unaccountably, she suddenly didn't _want_ her to move on. And that felt _extremely_ odd. Trying to cover up her confusion, she said, "Ah, are you leaving me already? _Such _a pity." She shrugged her shoulders in seeming indifference. "'Twas a pleasure to speak with you, if only for a while."

Stretching hugely, Dailana staggered slightly at the end of the stretch, then walked a few more steps towards Morrigan, who watched her approach with a quirked eyebrow. "Morrigan?"

The witch blinked in surprise. To her recollection, that was the first time the Warden had called her by her name. "Dailana?" she replied cautiously in kind, not sure what the woman actually expected of her.

Dailana held out a small package. "Here. It's, like, a totally bitchin' gnarly keen necklace from... from, ya know, home. Ummm, it matches your eyes, ya know? I just want you to, like, totally have it." She shrugged. "It _really_ doesn't go with my, like, keen blue gaze or awesome flaxen locks, ya know?"

Rendered speechless, Morrigan slowly reached out and took the package, opening it with hands that would have trembled had Flemeth not ensured that such weaknesses were eschewed years before. Within was nestled a beautiful necklace of tiger eye and carnelian set in gold, of the precise perfect length to rest on Morrigan's chest for all to see.

She sat silent for a few moments, trying to understand the _emotions_ that swept through her. In a few seconds she had reined them it, the master of her own self once more. Glancing up at Dailana's face, she said, "'Tis a fine gift. You have my thanks."

Dailana shrugged, already twirling a lock of hair absently. "What_ever._ Bee tee _em_, you people need to, like, totally chillax and take a chill pill, ya know?"

Morrigan's mouth twitched. "I shall endeavor to keep that in mind."

"See that you totally do, ya know?" She stretched one final time, then turned back to the main camp. "Well, thanks for the talk. Um, it... it helped, ya know?" She smiled. "I... I just wanted to, like, thank you for coming along, and all that. Um, I know it probably wasn't, like, _all_ your mother."

Morrigan considered her words. "No," she said quietly. "I want to see mountains. I wish to witness the ocean and step into its waters. I want to experience a city rather than see it in my mind." She looked up. "I want to live my own life."

Dailana's eyes met hers, and Morrigan felt pulled into a gaze as fully deep as the oceans she wished to explore. But then Alsitair's boisterous laugh echoed over the camp, and suddenly the blue-eyed Warden switched modes, becoming the empty vapid idiot once again. "Huh. Don't we all, like, do that anyway?" She yawned hugely, holding a delicate hand over her mouth, then declared, "Well, time to hit the sack of awesome sleepitude. Night!" She started to walk away, waving over her shoulder in a vague farewell.

Morrigan blurted, "What did you say to him?" Only slightly mortified that she had revealed her curiosity in such a blatant manner, she added (since it _was_ Dailana, after all), "To the qunari, I mean. To ensure that he would accompany us."

The Warden stopped in her tracks, head cocked, considering, then turned around and went back to Morrigan. Crouching with a peculiar feline grace, her eyes now alight with a twinkle of humor, she whispered, "I told him there would be, like, totally radical awesome scrumptious cake." She giggled as she stood up again. "It got him moving, didn't it?"

Morrigan laughed, the sound dancing over the air. "I suppose it did."

The Warden left Morrigan for true now, wending her way back to her bedroll, where she collapsed with an artless grace. Morrigan watched her still form for a while, golden eyes pensive in the light of the fire, hand tight around the gift of gold and gems. _Weakness..._

Rapidly blinking away the unfamiliar sensation behind her eyes, Morrigan put the necklace around her neck, wishing she had a mirror to gauge the effect. Somehow, though, she found herself trusting Dailana's authority in the matter. And, perhaps, in others as well.


	4. Chaos with a Dash of Carpentry, Please

_And lo, it came to pass that the Cousland of Retribution did come unto the Village of the Red Cliffe. Can't say there was much rejoicing..._

.~^~.

.

**Chaos with a Dash of Carpentry, Please**

.

.~^~.

Zevran stood on the escarpment overlooking Redcliffe Village, trying to find something to admire in the rather unimpressive little Fereldan town below. _At least it is outside and in the fresh air,_ he mused. After the many days and weeks of being in the Deep Roads and Orzammar, he was rather grateful for that fact. _Although I am still trying to decide what is worse: the smell of garbage and Mabari that hangs like a miasma above Ferelden, or the stench of Darkspawn and spider dens in the depths of the Deep Roads._

Next to him stood the red-haired bard, also ostensibly regarding the view, although Zevran had a few suspicions of his own, based on her slightly unfocused gaze and the intense argument occurring behind them between their fearless leader and her fellow Warden. "Quite an impressive view, yes?" he asked in a mild tone of voice.

"What?" she asked, a bit startled. "Oh, I mean... Yes, quite lovely." There was a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks to have been caught eavesdropping. "The Lake is beautiful even from up here. I know a few stories about Lake Calenhad, actual-"

From behind them came a rather explosive sound of frustration. "Bee tee _em, _why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Zevran and Leliana exchanged a startled look. Usually only Sten - or, recently, Oghren - managed to get that level of volume out of the blond Warden, and certainly never _Alistair_. They fell silent as both of them strove to appear as if they were ignoring the argument while at the same time avidly listening to every word.

Alistair's voice was apologetic, placating. "I would have told you, but-" His explanation was abruptly cut off, the sound of a drawn blade ringing in the air. "Um, Dailana? Is that... truly necessary?"

Leliana obviously couldn't stand it anymore and turned to intervene. "Dailana," she said in a placating tone of voice, and gently laid a hand on the blade that rested against Alistair's neck and forced him to stand on his tiptoes. "I'm sure there's no need for blades. Perhaps you could... think about..." She trailed off when the cerulean gaze turned on her. "I'll- I'll leave you two to your discussion, then," Leliana gulped, fleeing the situation to return to Zevran's side.

"_Coward,"_ Zevran teased with a grin. "Let me show you a _true _master at work." With a confident wink, he turned and sauntered to Dailana's side. "Come, come, my dear, _surely_ there are better things to occupy your hands with than a _cold _blade," he said, lightly tracing his fingers along her arm, ignoring the taut tension of her marvelous muscles. "The view from up here is magnificent, and there appears to be-" He stopped as he felt a cold line of metal, and it was _not_ against his neck. Quickly rising to his tiptoes, he coughed and said in a slightly elevated tone, "Ah. I see. Well, I will leave you to your... talk, then." Carefully he stepped away from the blade, very much aware that his nights... and mornings... and well, some afternoons - and perhaps evenings as well - would be vastly different if he didn't take the proper care to avoid her well-maintained weapon.

Once free of the metal menace, he scurried back to the amused Leliana's side. "Don't say _anything._"

She blinked innocently at him. _"I?"_ Her lips twitched with suppressed laughter. "Surely you don't think _I_ would have _any _comment on the work of a _true _master." Her blue eyes danced with mirth. _"Especially_ when it proves to be _so_ successful, no?"

Zevran stamped away, muttering to himself and ignoring the giggling behind him, only peripherally aware of the fact that Alistair had managed to talk Dailana into lowering her blade. Only when he heard a sound slap did he turn to see Dailana storm away in a rather dazzling tizzy, heading towards the bridge that led to the village and leaving behind an Alistair with a suspiciously red cheek. He raised an eyebrow towards the ex-Templar, receiving a rueful grin in return, before running after her, hoping to protect the innocent from his lovely leader when she was in a snit.

Sure enough, she had found someone to sulk at rather loudly. Dashing up, he gently eased her back a couple of steps from the terrified lad that seemed to be guarding the way. "Now, now, my dear, perhaps we should, ah, wait for the others."

The lad cowered a bit behind his upraised hands. "Please, I only wanted to know if you'd come to help! Bann Teagan-"

As the other members of their little party caught up with them, Dailana suddenly stopped struggling against Zevran and looked at the ill-armed archer. "Bann Teagan?" The lad nodded, hesitantly. That big, beautiful smile that made Zevran... well, honestly, that made _most_ men not made of stone swallow and start thinking about _things they wanted to do to her _- as the lad was obviously doing now, despite his scare - spread across her face. She moved closer to the young man, putting her arms on his shoulders almost intimately as her tongue emerged to moisten her lips. "Will you take us to the bodacious Bann? I would be, like, so _totally_ grateful, ya know?"

Zevran chuckled as the lad lost his fear and gained something else, forcing him to quickly turn and walk away in that familiar hunched-over fashion that Dailana was so skilled at producing, either with her smile or her knee. Dailana followed him, practically bouncing with happiness as she did so, which, given the nature of her short armor, granted Zevran quite a nice view of her-

A staff hit him on the head, none too lightly. "Hey!" he shouted, glaring at the completely serene Morrigan.

"My apologies, I thought I saw a fly." Smoothly the witch walked past him, though Zevran did _not_ watch _her_ swaying hips - one night in an icy tent was _quite_ enough, thank you. "'Twas only a band of fleas leaving your overheated, underutilized brain."

Though he couldn't glare at the witch, he _did_ glare at Leliana as she passed him by, still giggling, leaving him to walk beside Alistair. "Ah, my friend," he said morosely, "it is a good thing that sex is such a marvelous thing. Oh," he said, glancing at the now completely red Warden, "my apologies. I forgot that you had not yet _indulged_." Waving a hand to override the obvious protest, he observed, "My dear Alistair, I can smell purity a mile away, and this close it is rather cloying. Would you like me to arrange something for you with a nice, buxom barmaid? It would be the work of but a few minutes, with a handsome fellow like you. Or, of course, _I_ could-"

"Ah, no! Thank you! I'll, uh, I'll just..." The poor man finally gave up and bolted ahead, careless of whether or not Dailana was still angry at him. Obviously _anything_ was better than a discussion with Zevran about _that_.

Feeling much better, Zevran trotted down the hill, heading towards the large building that Dailana had just entered. _Perhaps this will be a good day after all._

.~^~.

A few minutes later, he was feeling far less positive about the whole prospect of a _good day_. It hadn't helped that, when he first entered the Chantry, he'd been pushed aside by the now completely oblivious lad that had led Dailana there, mind and hand obviously intending to find some time _alone_ no matter what else needed to be done. Frowning, he had moved to the front of the church in time to see a rather distinguished, well-dressed nobleman stare incredulously at his lovely leader (and lover) and stammer, "D-Dailana?" Honestly, though, the true low point had been when she squealed like a little girl, tripped up to him, and hauled him down for a thorough and - need it be said? - _deep _kiss, careless of anyone who saw.

"Bee tee _em, _I've missed you, my Bannhammer," she purred in that sultry sex-kitten voice of hers when she finally relented. "It's been, ya know, too _long_ since you nailed me to a-"

As Alistair broke into a fierce bout of coughing, the man - obviously this Bann Teagan their guide had spoken of - blushed as fiery a red as Alistair was currently sporting and hastily interrupted her. "Ah, yes, well... perhaps this isn't the _best _time to... What I mean is, Redcliffe is... That is, monsters have-" He gently pushed her away, though (Zevran noticed with a critical eye) he _did _let his hands linger on her bare waist. "We can... catch up with each other later, my dear. Redcliffe faces true evil right now, and I am sad to say that it is your skill with your blades I need most at present."

Dailana pouted, running one of her perfect fingernails up his chest and then to his hair, tugging at the end of his braid - a technique Zevran was _intimately _familiar with. "I'd rather talk about the skill of _your_ blade, Bannhammer." When no smile was forthcoming from her target, she suddenly got quite serious, even if she did elicit a little sigh of discontent. "_Fine._" And, just like that, the cold, calculating Dailana that had been sneaking peeks into the world since Lothering - and who had managed to scare the ethics back into Bhelen - took another gander. "Let me guess: there's some, like, gnarly charlies that are just begging for the kill-me-nows, and _I_ need to totally take control or it won't get done." She rolled her eyes, a finger seeking out her hair to twirl a lock of blond curls. "Oh, and it's probably, like, really bogus grody monsters, too." She looked at the ceiling, mien exasperated. "Like, rotting corpses or something that would, like, _totally_ barf me out to the max." Her chin dropped, making her eyes meet his, even as all intelligence drained from her gaze. "Did I, like, forget anything?"

Teagan - and pretty much everyone in the Chantry except Morrigan, who only looked thoughtful - were staring at her in shock. "Um... yes?" the Bann said, obviously unsure how to deal with their lovely leader. _Interesting,_ Zevran mused. _Is she so very different than before?_

With an eloquent shrug, Dailana took out a blade, ostensibly to polish it. "Spill it."

Teagan hastened to comply.

.~^~.

After a quick education on how to get Fereldan noblemen to talk about _everything_ they knew, Dailana led her party back outside. For a few moments she simply stood on the small raised platform outside the Chantry and looked up at the sky, twirling a finger through her hair, eyes apparently empty of thought. The men who were practicing their archery - poorly, it must be noted - grew even more ragged the more they tried to not look at her, and finally Zevran took it upon himself - since it was obvious Alistair wanted to avoid more friction with her at the moment - to approach and hesitantly touch her elbow.

"I wonder where he is, ya know?" Dailana said quietly. Her cerulean gaze turned to him, and he suddenly felt trapped in deep blue pools of sorrow. "I need to believe he's, like, _somewhere_, and not..." Trailing away, her eyes moved to look away from the Chantry once more. Zevran realized she was looking at the windmill on the hill above and wondered at the significance of such a device. Her lips moved silently, as if in a prayer, though he was able to make out a name oft muttered in her sleep: _Fergus._

_Who are you, my deadly sex goddess?_ he wondered.

And then she was moving away, forcing him and the others to scramble to keep up with her as she made a beeline for the man with the droopy mustache that watched the militia with a grumpy frown. As she came to a halt before him, he glanced at her and grunted. "So you're the lass Bann Teagan put in charge. Mind if I ask what makes you so special that we should follow your orders?"

With a brilliant smile and a small shrug, Dailana's hand moved to the small dagger she kept hidden... _somewhere_ in her rather skimpy armor, and, a flash of metal later, the man's amusing mustache was... even more amusing.

Slightly trembling fingers reached up and examined his new facial fashion hesitantly. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and said, "I see." Straightening in place, he nodded his head in respect and said, "Name's Murdock. Persuasive lass like you should come in handy. Maybe you could start with Owen," he said, gesturing towards the closed door behind him. "He's the local blacksmith. Our boys need their armor repaired, and-"

"What_ever!"_ Dailana interrupted with a flick of her dagger before putting it back in her sheath. "My poor little Prince of Hotness, like, keeps stretching his _fauld_, so that _totally_ needs some repair." Zevran saw Alistair blink, then flush as he unconsciously reached down and adjusted the part of armor in question - or perhaps what lay underneath it.

With a grunt of exasperation, Murdock tried to add, "The stubborn fool refuses to even talk. If-" He trailed off and turned to watch as Dailana moved past him - Dog never far behind - and went to the blacksmith's door, pounding on it solidly. "She... doesn't hang about, does she?"

Zevran chuckled as he moved to join his lover. "No, that she does not." He paused as he passed by Alistair. "Why don't you and Sten stay here and try to, ah, instruct our poor local militia in the finer arts of distinguishing the hilt from the blade?"

Sten grunted. "And why should I follow your orders, _Talis_?"

"Because he's right," Alistair said in a resigned tone of voice, looking at the 'militia'. "Look, that one just cut himself." As they all looked to the ragged men, the door to the blacksmith opened and Dailana and dog slipped in, unnoticed.

"_Parshaara._" The giant rolled his shoulders and moved towards the men. "If I must teach a man to be a man, so be it." Alistair followed quickly, fully aware of how intimidating the Qunari would be to the men of Redcliffe.

Turning to Leliana, Zevran continued, "And perhaps our lovely resident archer could help those poor benighted lads learn to aim a bit more effectively." He looked at the archers, wincing as one arrow missed a target completely and hit the unattended Chanter's Board.

Her full lips pursed thoughtfully. "That... is a good idea." She reached back and eased her longbow from its place, thoughtfully testing the string. "I think I'd feel better during the battle if I didn't have to worry about arrows from my own allies." With a decisive nod, she headed towards the men, face determined.

"Surely you don't think to tell _me_ what to do?" Morrigan said in a disdainful tone.

"Ah, no, my magnificent mage of ice," Zevran said, a touch hastily. "I will leave that task to our lovely leader."

"And what about me?" grunted an almost unfamiliar voice. Zevran blinked and looked down at the disheveled red-bearded dwarf. Since Orzammar, Oghren had spent most nights drinking himself to insensibility, and most days snapping at anyone who got close to him - except, oddly, Dailana herself. "What am I, chopped liver?"

Zevran shrugged and took a step towards the blacksmith. "Only if you choose to be, my short, smelly friend. Come, let us see if she requires assis-"

At that moment, the door to the blacksmith opened, and Dailana emerged with an old, tired man, talking in quiet tones with him. After a few moments of conversation, he embraced her tightly, which she readily returned, and then released her and waved at Murdock. "Send in your blasted militia, you old grump! There's not much time left until the sun sets!"

The smug-looking Dailana stopped in front of the dumbfounded Murdock. "Like, how about a _real_ challenge? All he needed was, like, a shoulder to cry on and someone who _cared._" She rolled her eyes. "Like, what _is_ it about the _men_ in this town not being able to, ya know, rise to the occasion?" As Murdock's face darkened at the overt and hidden insult, she waved dismissively and said, "Lay it on me, Mr. Short Mustache Man. Is there any other, like, totally obvious problems you need my awesomely bodacious help with? Or do I have to take down all the gnarly charlies myself while you hide behind, ya know, that bogus pushbroom on your lip?" She shook her head in sympathy. "You should really, like, get that fixed. When the skank in the saloon has more bitchin' lip foliage than you, it's, like, _definitely_ time to improve the ride for the ladies, ya know?"

The ensuing stream of profanity was creative enough that Zevran wished he had some paper to take notes. With a bland look on her face, Dailana turned from the mayor and led the way up to the windmill, where the Bann had indicated Ser Perth was in need of some assistance as well. Morrigan's laughter had, for the most part, faded away by the time they reached the top of the hill, and Oghren was tentatively feeling at the tips of his own bright red hangers, looking speculatively at Dailana as he did so. As the blonde woman approached the knight who bowed ever so properly at her approach, the dwarf said quietly to Zevran, "So, do ya think she'd, uh, you know..." He drew a finger across his own upper lip with a look of almost _fear_.

"Only if you get on her bad side." He glanced at Dailana, the knight in front of her completely captivated by her winning smile, empty eyes, and low cleavage. "Perhaps you could... get rid of that fish and use soap once in a while? That may put you in her good graces." He sniffed pointedly and rubbed at his nose. "For once."

Oghren scowled, but felt the dangling bits of his mustache as one would fondle a lover. "I'll think about it," he said gruffly, then stomped back down the hill, muttering to himself, as Dailana returned to Zevran's side and stretched, catlike. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he slipped an arm around her bare waist, again thanking the Maker that - as an elf - his head was at about chest height on a human woman.

"And what do you have planned next, my dear?" he asked with a raised brow. She smiled at him, reaching over to gently trace the outline of his ear and then tug at his braid. He closed his eyes for a moment and shivered. "I do not think this is the best time," he said, regret in his voice, and patted her on the rump before stepping back. "Now, where to next?"

She pouted an instant before reaching up to flip her hair with a grin, mercurial in mood and intellect. "Back to, like, gather the troops, _duh._ And, ya know, find some more." With a careless shrug, she headed to the village tavern after a farewell wave to Ser Perth. "Come, my Assassin of Passion!"

Ignoring Morrigan's sound of exasperation, he followed on her heels, grinning in anticipation. Whatever else could be said about the Cousland of Retribution, _boring_ was never part of it.

.~^~.

In the next few hours, they did manage to scrounge up a few new recruits of varying quality and loyalty. Dailana took one look at how Lloyd treated Bella and drafted him, allowing Morrigan to bully him down to the training area without remorse as the militia cheered her with their free pints of ale. Berwick met a similar fate, as any mention of Arl Howe was pretty much a one-way ticket to getting in Dailana's poor graces. Zevran wondered what would have happened to _his_ mustache, had he sported any, then looked at his lover's bleak face and decided that the elf wouldn't have even left the tavern in one piece if the situation hadn't so desperately needed trained bodies.

Leaving behind a cloud of growing inebriation and a new tavern owner - even if Bella didn't realize it yet - Dailana made a sweep of the rest of the village, leaving an impression of a hurricane in those she left in her wake. Dwyn's thugs fell into line rather quickly once their boss was a head shorter, even helpfully providing the key to his chest of loot so that Dailana could bring the monstrous sword within back to Sten. After leaving the newly christened 'Blighter Fighter' to demonstrate fighting techniques to the militia with his newly restored soul, they were waylaid by a girl in tears who begged them to find her little brother. To Zevran's surprise, Dailana immediately agreed, and off they went on this seemingly insignificant task, the oddity of their leader's quick acquiescence only surpassed by the grimness of her expression.

Eventually they scared the boy out of a closet, and Zevran witnessed the beautiful moment when tears glistened on Dailana's cheeks as she hugged the boy to herself, though Zevran could not escape the thought that another boy entirely was on her mind at that moment. After giving a firm lecture to the boy's sister about _a sister's duty to her brother_ and shooing them to the back of the Chantry, Teagan pulled Dailana aside for a quiet conversation, during which Zevran again heard the name 'Fergus', accompanied by the name 'Oren,' to which she shook her head stiffly. Again he watched another man embrace his lover, sighing inwardly, but then Dailana was off, leaving her momentary weakness behind even more assiduously than her companions.

It was only when they all stood in the darkness of the night at the top of the hill - among the newly re-armed and re-armored militia and knights sporting freshly minted symbols of Andraste - that Zevran dared attempt a comment. "Apparently we both carry more than our fair share of pain," he said quietly, pitching his voice so that none would hear it save its intended target.

Cerulean eyes turned to regard him, reflecting the light of the fire of the barricades. Even though the darkness made it a challenge to read her expression, he knew that his words had again brought out that oh-so-intriguing deadly goddess that he witnessed so sparingly before Redcliffe. "Appearances are, like, _so_ deceiving, ya know?" She sidled closer to him, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "And you, like, know what else?"

He couldn't help it - the combination of the hot breath on his ear and his intrigue made him lean even closer to her, despite the fact that around him people were pointing up the hill, muttering to each other and drawing their weapons. "What?"

She slapped his ass soundly through his armor. "Time to kick some gnarly charlie booty!" Pulling her own blades forth, she gave a high ululating cry and dashed up to the edge of the fire barricade from which the first aflame skeletons were emerging. As if her actions were the spark, everyone save the archers of the group moved forward, beginning the hours-long battle that would later be recorded in the annals of Redcliffe Village as the Victory of the Broken Fingernail.

.~^~.

Zevran fought to keep his eyes open during the short ceremony where they commemorated a small plaque to Lloyd to put in his tavern, as a dedication to the only life lost in the conflict of the night before. The portly barkeep had exceeded expectations and actually _killed_ an enemy but, in the end, had not been able to avoid the daggers of their foes... though, now that he fuzzily thought about it, Zevran hadn't actually _seen_ any of the undead carrying any daggers. Ignoring the nagging thought, unable to focus on _why_ that seemed odd in his current mental state, he opted instead to concentrate on _not yawning_ until Bann Teagan and Mother Hannah were done with the sorrow and thanks of the public ceremony. _I cannot wait to get into a nice, warm bed after this,_ he mused, blinking rapidly to keep himself awake.

The other members of their little band were not much better, exhibiting cuts and bruises too minor for Wynne to worry about and circles under their eyes. Somehow only their lovely leader managed to look in any way alert, though she _had_ removed her grimy armor and put it into Owen's safekeeping until he had time to clean and repair it. In its place was a dress that Mother Hannah was sorely tempted to object to, save for the fact that, in the eyes of the villagers (even Murdock-of-the-Short-Stache), the blond Warden could do no wrong. The fact that at least _part _of her breasts were covered helped the Mother keep her observations to herself.

A ragged cheer went up which Zevran joined, though he hadn't actually heard the speech that preceded it. When he saw Dailana give Teagan a lusty kiss, though, he realized that he had presented her with the thanks of the village in the form of a helmet that - he knew just from _looking_ at it and Sten's current armor - would end up on the Qunari's head. He suppressed a sigh of envy, fingering the light scar left over from an arrow wound in his ear due to his lover's insistence that _both_ of his heads remain bare.

As people turned away, he realized belatedly that the ceremony was over. He waited for Teagan or Dailana to call the Wardens' party over, but no such summons came. Instead, Dailana whispered into the Bann's ear and, with a grin on his face, he put his arm around her waist and started to take her across the square, obviously heading towards one of the deserted houses... and presumably the bed within.

He watched them with a frown, not precisely _jealous_ - after all, he had no expectation of exclusivity in her choice of lovers, nor had she made any such demand of him - but still, it was... _odd _to watch his lithesome lover wander off on someone else's arm. Turning away, he found Alistair's eyes also on the pair, a look of confusion etched on his countenance. _Ah, so that little crush still flutters within you, hmm?_ With a weary chuckle, he turned to the Chantry, hoping to find a pallet still available to sleep upon, when Leliana touched his arm.

"She's calling for you," the bard said, nodding her head behind Zevran.

Zevran turned back to see Dailana enthusiastically gesturing him over, which was causing absolutely _fascinating_ things to happen to her bosom. To spare Mother Hannah her approaching apoplexy, he hurried across the square to where the two humans stood.

"Yes, my dear?" he asked with an easy smile, no hint of the... all right, _jealousy_ he felt in his face or tone. "Do you need me to go check in on Bella, perhaps? After all, it was her boss that met his untimely end, yes?"

"What? Bee tee _em, _no!" Giggling, she leaned her head against Teagan's shoulder, eyes still on Zevran. "We just, like, thought you might want to, ya know, make the beast with three backs."

Zevran blinked, then looked at the Bann. The man's frank gaze scrutinized Zevran from head to toe and back, lingering here and there in speculation. "You look like a man eager to find a bed and get out of that dirty armor," he said in a slightly husky voice. "And I'm a little too tired to hammer quite as _robustly _as I have in the past. Dailana's told me you are quite the talented... carpenter."

"It is my preferred specialty, yes," Zevran admitted, suddenly feeling his weariness retreat before a rising wave of heat. "As is massage. In fact, Dailana can attest that I am quite a master of the art."

"She has," the Bann said, the corner of his mouth turning upward. "Interested?"

Breaking from the man's compelling gaze, Zevran returned his attention to Dailana, who gave him a cheeky wink. "Far be it from me to refuse the heroes of the day, yes?" he responded with a grin.

And although he did find a bed and get out of his dirty armor, for some reason he never quite found the opportunity to sleep. Ah, well.

.

.~^~.

.

_fauld - _a piece of plate armor worn below a breastplate to protect the waist and hips and... other areas


	5. An Interview with Dailana Cousland

**01. Full name:** Dailana Trixie Cousland. I changed my middle name myself when I, like, turned thirteen. Sooo much better than Brycie, don't ya think?

**02. Best friend:** Dog, my totally gnarly keen Mabari hound

**03. Sexuality:** Whatever, like, feels good, ya know?

**04. Favorite color:** Blue, like my awesomely bodacious eyes

**05. Relationship status:** Free and havin' fun!

**06. Ideal mate:** Ummm... well, let's see: a hottie or a tottie, and good at the horizontal tango. Oh, and they can make, like, a totally radical hot chocolate

**07. Turn-ons:** No clothes is, like, a guarantee. Aaaand _(finger twirls hair)_ like, breathing? Oh, and not Loghain. Like, it's weird to sleep with your BFF's father, ya know? Well, except Wulfram. Except that was my lover's father, so no big, right? What_ever_.

**08. Favorite food:** Well, it, like, _used_ to be chocolate, but then I found out that weird Qunari downer guy likes it, so, like, I had to find something else. To be _unique_, ya know? So, now my favorite gnawshy is, like, nug. Though... don't, like, tell Leliana that, mkay? Her Schmooples is too cute to, like, be a mid-day snack, ya know?

**09. Crushes:** Oooo, the Prince of Hotness, of course! Even if he didn't _tell_ me he was the _Prince_ of Hotness. I mean, the Assassin of Passion is a great, ya know, _carpenter_ - like the Bannhammer, right? - but the Prince of Hotness is soooo cute with his, like, _lamp post_ and all. _(looks around nervously)_ You, like, don't have to tell him I saw him bathe, ya know?

**10. Favorite music:** _(sad smile)_ Like, this song that Nan used to sing to me and my... I'm sorry, can I, ya know, answer that question in a little bit? _(wanders out of sight for a few minutes before returning with red rimmed eyes)_ So, what's the next question?

**11. Biggest fear:** Like, it is _totally_ not that my brother might be dead. It is _totally_ broken fingernails. Just ask any of the gnarly charlies I've run into. Oh, what's that? You can't? Yeah, cuz they're _dead_. Cuz they _broke_ my _fingernails_.

**12. Biggest fantasy:** _(swoons)_ The Prince of Hotness, the Assassin of Passion, the Bard of Beauty and the Witch of Wonder all in one bed... _(a tinge of moisture appears)_ in Highever... I'm sorry, there's, like, something in my eye

**13. Bad habits:** _(twirls finger in hair)_ Hmmm... maybe, like, deliberately forming my elocution to, ya know, grate on everyone's nerves? _(considers it for a moment)_ Nah, my only bad habit is, like, not having perfect fingernails.

**14. Biggest regret:** _(silence)_ Look, you said, like, you wouldn't ask about Highever, all right?

**15. Best kept secrets:** _(looks away)_ Rory never forgave me. And then he died. _(shakes head)_ Can we, like, move on? Please?

**16. Last thought:** Rule well, King of Hotness. I love you.

**17. Worst romantic experience:** _(giggles)_ Like, don't _ever_ let a Qunari tell you he doesn't like it when you go down on him. Oh, romantic? _(thinks about it)_ Ummm, I guess that was when, like, Nathaniel tried to, like, pull my hair on my tenth birthday? I mean, it couldn't have been when I, like, got caught with Anora by Ro- Ya know, let's just skip this question.

**18. Biggest insecurity:** I'm so awesomely _bodacious!_ How could I possibly have any problems? _(pets Dog when he whines)_ It has nothing to do with my, like, self-esteem, right, my _pwecious widdle puppy?_

**19. Weapon of choice:** _(points at the dual daggers on her back)_ Clipper and Trimmer, right here. Like, what more does a girl need?

**20. Role Model:** Like, _totally_ Rowan Guerrin. She just _rocked_. Rebel _and_ a Queen? Too bad her son was kind of, ya know, an airhead.


End file.
